Reckless Honor
by Mrs.Phineas Bogg
Summary: Bobby Nelson is involved in a car accident that puts his career and reputation on the line. He needs the support of his brother and friends more than ever as he struggles to come to terms with himself, and solve the mystery surrounding the victims.
1. The Accident

**Reckless Honor**

**Chapter 1: The accident**

It was a warm, humid late night in the City of Los Angeles. Two men dressed head to toe in black, dashed from the back entrance of a warehouse to a truck carrying flat, tightly wrapped parcels of different shapes and sizes. The taller, burlier one stopped to wipe the sweat off his brow and neck and tossed his parcel on the ground disgruntled.

"Forget this. I need a cig break."

His skinny partner shoved him and he picked up the parcel and dusted it off.

"Jordan, you idiot! Do you know what these are worth? You heard the boss. There better not be one nick or scratch or else we'll pay for it. And I don't mean money."

"Pipe it down, Eddie! Do you wanna wake the neighborhood? Alert the cops? I've been on this gig long before he hired you, and I know what I'm doing. I'm more concerned about that _other_ _package _he wants us to take care of. It's a lot bigger than this stuff and very freakin' stubborn." Jordan rubbed his hand where he received two large bite marks.

Eddie loaded the last boxes in the back of the truck and secured the door. "Happy now? We're finished. This last package is personal and he wants it to look like an accident. You know how _avant-garde_ these people are. If it were my decision…" He popped open a switchblade and ran the blunt end across his neck. "One slice and problem solved."

Jordan struck a match on his boot and lit another cigarette. He laughed at his partner in crime. "No way, too messy." He pulled a handgun from the pocket. "One or two quick plugs with this and you're done. Just like old Steve who thought he could make sales on the down low. The boss doesn't tolerate competition." Jordan chuckled. "You know, for someone with a name like the boss, you wouldn't expect them to be so evil. But Steve got what was coming to him. Those are the breaks."

Eddie shrugged. "Can't blame a guy for trying, if people wanna waste millions on this junk then why shouldn't others profit from it? There's plenty to go around. We're the ones busting our humps and taking a risk sneaking around. I don't really care how it goes down, just as long as I get a heavy cut. I'll deliver to whoever is asking. Anyway, we gotta find Stevie a nice resting place."

A loud crash and a shrill alarm from inside the warehouse broke the stillness. Jordan flicked his cigarette.

"_Damn it!_ Looks like we underestimated that last package! Come on!"

-Oo-

**3:30am California Freeway**

Bobby Nelson did all he could to stay focused on the road. Now he understood why all those so-called buddies of his didn't make the cut at the CHP Academy two years ago. They behaved like hopelessly immature children, and tonight Bobby partied right along with them. It was a wild _'sleep where you fall'_ affair at his friend's swanky beach house and brimmed with good food, women, booze – and plenty of frat boy antics.

If there were other 'kicks' passing around Bobby wasn't aware of it, and his friends knew better than to bring them out in his presence. Although he had his share of fun, half the night he felt like a chaperon, making sure people limited their alcohol consumption and used designated drivers. Becoming a cop matured him in ways he didn't think possible and Bobby chose not to 'fall' anywhere at the party. He almost forgot he had to fill in for Grossie's shift Monday morning and he would have never made it back in time with the rush hour traffic.

As he drove along he suddenly regretted his decision to leave and even staying at the party so long. In four hours he had to be suited up and ready to roll on these same Freeways for the early bird patrol. Bobby exhausted himself working the morning shift all last week with Poncherello, and then Grossie begged for Monday off to get a painful wisdom tooth pulled. Bobby hated to admit it, but the long hours and vain attempts to keep up with the night life caught up to him fast. This was despite his constant boasts of being young, virile, and energetic. Ponch told him that soon he'd learn to draw a fine line.

Bobby yawned loudly and flicked on the radio. Three minutes later he shut it annoyed. It was no help keeping him alert. The on-air stations featured a bunch of soft-spoken DJs playing Beethoven classics that were sure to knock him right into dreamland. He needed another cup of black, sugarless coffee to give him a jolt. It occurred to him that he was awake for almost twenty-three hours straight. Ponch constantly warned him about the _'all nighters.' _He related a story of when he and Jon Baker stopped a crotchety old man for a busted taillight. The geezer took forever and a day to rifle through his wallet and stuffed dashboard for the license and registration and Ponch fell sound asleep standing upright with the ticket book in hand. He didn't wake up until Jon came over and shook him…three times.

The road stretched on for miles into near pitch-darkness and Bobby's vision warped from gray to black over and over. He rubbed his eyes and slapped his cheeks. A car behind him picked up speed and drove fifty feet ahead. The heavy tire squeals and smell of burning exhaust invigorated Bobby and he straightened up after slinking almost half a foot down in his seat.

"I don't care what time it is, you're not gonna start speeding on my watch." He muttered.

Bobby gritted his teeth and caught up to the car. He veered left and the car slowed. The driver looked his way and shifted anxiously up and down, but it was hard for Bobby to see him clearly. Bobby sighed. He was too tired to make a late-night example out of the driver and let him pass again. Five minutes later they were still the only cars on the road, traveling in the same direction.

Bobby's grip slackened on the wheel. He lowered his eyes and ducked his head. He abruptly heard a loud popping noise and what could have been a tire blowout. Another vehicle came out of nowhere from behind and flashed their high beams. Bobby was blindsided. He swerved a fast left and just missed skimming the little, white Ford he followed. The Ford weaved in all directions and ran straight off the road.

"_Oh crap! _What did I do!" Bobby brought his car to a screeching halt and he heard a woman's terrified scream.

The Ford slammed down a slippery embankment and rolled on its side. It flipped twice and finally came to a stop on its hood at the muddy bottom. Bobby frantically jumped out of his car and slid his way down to help.

"_Hello! _Answer me if you can!" He wished he had a flashlight.

There was no answer and he smelled gasoline. Bobby struggled through knee deep mud to reach the car. He saw a portly man slumped over the backseat window and sticking out halfway. He was like a dead weight and Bobby couldn't wedge him through the opening.

"Hold on fella! I'll get ya, but ladies first!"

He looked at the front seat and saw the silhouette of a young woman face-down in the mud and she was close to drowning in it. Bobby couldn't worry about injuries. He got on his belly and raised her up, then quickly cleared an air passage for her nostrils and mouth. She was unresponsive.

"Hang on, sweetheart, I'm gonna get you out of here!"

He ripped her seat belt off and dragged her body through the window. He stumbled, and almost dropped her until he tossed her over his shoulder and ran to a dry part of the embankment.

"Oh shoot! The other guy!" Bobby attempted to run back for him when he saw a spark.

"_NOO!"_ He screamed. No please, no!"

The front of the car caught on flames and five seconds later the entire car exploded. Bobby threw himself on the ground and shielded the woman with his body as flaming metal pieces flew up into the air and just missed striking them. When the danger passed Bobby picked her up and carried her higher. He lay her on the ground and put an ear to her mouth.

"_Oh God! _Not you too. Don't die on me!"

Bobby raised her head partway and opened her mouth. He brushed his fingers around to get rid of excess mud clogging her throat. He laid her flat and sealed his mouth over hers, then blew in two times.

"Come on, baby. _Breathe!_ Please breathe for me!"

He repeated the process and was ready to start CPR when she sputtered and gurgled. Bobby gasped.

"I knew you could do it." He whispered.

He helped her up and patted her back while she choked. He stared at her neck curiously. There was a cloth wrapped around it, but it wasn't a fashion scarf.

'_A gag? She was gagged?'_ There was no time for inquiries.

"Easy, easy! You have a huge bump on your head, it might be a concussion."

She gripped his arm tight and screamed when she saw the car fire. She tried to get up, but staggered. Bobby caught her before she fell.

"It's okay, I got you. Don't move around so much."

"_No_…_no…nooooo!_ I have to get away!" She stammered.

He kept his voice level and calm. "You have to stay here; you were in a bad accident. You can't go over there. It's…it's too late."

Bobby gazed at the car and held his mouth horrified. The man left behind was caught up in flames and the rank smell of his burning flesh filled the air. The woman saw the body and she burst into tears. Bobby pulled her close and she sobbed into his chest.

"I'm really sorry. I couldn't get him in time. I had to get you first." Bobby tried to comfort her.

She pulled away. "Who…what? Please take me away!"

Bobby helped her stand. "I will! I'll take you back to my car. I have a CB and I need get an ambulance and fire department here fast."

The girl was woozy and fainted against him. Bobby panicked. He checked her pulse – she was still alive. He toiled up the embankment until he lowered her safely onto the pavement. After calling the appropriate responders for the accident, Bobby changed the frequency, and hoped that Frank Poncherello kept his receiver on for overnight transmissions.

"_Viking-T to Firebird_, _Viking-T to Firebird!_ Come in! Over!" Bobby's words faltered and stuck in his throat. He looked at the woman and she was still unconscious. Bobby felt nauseous and dizzy. He fiddled with the dials. "_We got an…11-80, Code 2…Code 3, L.A. 15 Mary 7 requests… 11-41, need back-up…over!"_

Bile crept up his throat and he spit up. A man was possibly burned alive because of his reckless behavior. Sweat beads dripped down forehead. He wiped them off and recoiled in pain. When he lowered his hands he saw blood. He couldn't even be sure if it was his own. The stinging sensation on his forehead told him otherwise. His whole body numbed and his vision blurred in and out. His face paled as he slid down the side of his car and shouted into the transmitter.

"Ponch! Come in, Ponch! It's Bobby! I need you!"

***CHP Codes (Thanks for the links, Daynawayna!)**

15 Mary 7- Bobby's code name

11-80- Accident, Major injuries

Code 2- Urgent

Code 3- Emergency

11-41- Ambulance required

**The CB radio in Bobby's car is not canon, but I decided to give Bobby and Ponch handles for the dramatics of this scene. _Viking T – _Bobby is a descendant of Vikings and his middle name is Torvald. I picked _'Firebird' _for Ponch because it was his famous car in seasons 2-5.**


	2. Brotherly love

**Reckless Honor**

**Chapter 2: Brotherly love**

Bobby opened his eyes fast. He was in his own bed and he wondered if he had dreamed the horrific events. He poked his head out the window, it was dark and the clock on his nightstand read half past nine pm. He lumbered to the bathroom and stared in the mirror. He recoiled and fell against the hamper. What happened the night before was no dream. It was a nightmare come to life. His gaze hardened and his mind whirled at lightning speed while he replayed the events over and over.

Dark circles marred his wide blue eyes and he gingerly brushed his fingertips along the gash on his forehead. The blood clotted and someone cleaned around it. He looked down and saw he was in the boxer shorts he usually wore for bed, and all the mud and gunk was gone. He examined every inch of his form. He sustained bruises all around. Bobby washed up languidly and made his way into the kitchen where a familiar aroma struck him. Bruce stood over the small stove mixing a pot bubbling over with sauce. He looked up and grinned sympathetically.

"Hey big brother, you're up! I'm making mom's famous chili recipe. I knew that would rouse you sooner or later. I know it's one of your favorites."

Bobby sank into the chair at the dining table and toyed with the napkins. Despite all the trauma he couldn't control his hunger pangs. "Smells great. You put two times the garlic and peppers right?"

Bobby spooned chili in two bowls and cut two hunks of cornbread. "Of course. But you can add your own hot sauce. I picked up a new bottle for you." Bruce slid over a red and black container with a cartoon mushroom cloud on the label. "This one is called, _'Eve of destruction.' _Sounds appetizing."

"_I like it!_" Bobby doused it on his chili with some extra cheddar cheese. "You know me too well, little bro. Pass that salad."

Bobby did all he could to block out the crash and for ten minutes the only sound heard were the brothers chewing and dipping and slurping down cold water. Bruce toiled to eat his meal; he wasn't a fan hot and spicy food, but Bobby's tolerance was like a bottomless pit. Bobby wiped his mouth and sat back full and satisfied. Bruce resorted to playing with the food and spooning it like a whirlpool, something he did as a child whenever there were pressing issues on his mind. His candid, blue-eyed gaze shifted from the bowl to his brother and he couldn't hold back his curiosity.

"Alright, Bobby. We can't avoid this. Now do you wanna talk about it?"

Bobby chugged down the last of his water and poured more. "First I want to know how I got here. The last thing I remember was making those CB calls. Everything's a blur. I guess I was in the hospital? I sort of remember the lights and stuff." He plucked at the white bracelet on his wrist and then yanked it off.

"Yeah, for evaluation. Ponch got your distress call, but you must have passed out before you could tell him your location. It scared him to death. Ponch convinced the hospital to let you go home and he helped me clean you up. It wasn't easy, we dumped you in the bathtub and ran the shower and you were _still_ half asleep! I had to throw out those jeans and that black shirt. I know the shirt was your favorite. I'll get you a new one."

Bobby leaned forward worried. He didn't care about clothes. "What about the girl? Where is she?"

"Gee, you're welcome, big brother."

"I'm sorry. Thank you, little brother."

"Any time. So, her name is Stacey Lang and she's also still in the hospital for observation. They think it was a drunk driving accident because she reeked of alcohol. It's a shame. Ponch visited her job today to find out more about her."

"But will she survive?"

"Yeah. She's pretty strong, young, about twenty-two. I'm not sure what's wrong with her exactly. But I know she definitely had a concussion."

Bobby sat back a little relieved. "Where's her job?"

"The LA County Museum of Art. She's an assistant curator for her stepfather and he's away in Japan right now. His name is Christian Davidson, apparently he's a hotshot art dealer. The museum promised to get him the message straight away. But then Ponch insisted they call and spoke to the man himself."

Bobby smiled. "That's Poncherello for you. He makes it happen. And what's Davidson doing about this?"

"He's flying back as soon as he can, which isn't soon enough for Ponch, but anyway, Davidson wants her kept in the hospital with her own room and full medical care."

Bobby felt sorry for Stacey. "And she has no family here to take care of her?"

Bruce knew what he was thinking. "Not that I know of. But good luck trying to see her. Ponch and I only got in because we had our badges. We told them we were the responding officers and we needed to assess her injuries for our reports. For some reason Davidson really didn't want visitors."

"I bet Ponch loved that. That's so stupid."

"Yeah, it's a little weird that he doesn't want cops talking to her, when Ponch asked him why, Davidson said because he doesn't want her to say anything without a lawyer present and all that nonsense. She's really out of it anyway. Hot looking girl too."

Bobby pounded the table. "Well I'm gonna try. I'll get in there somehow. She's old enough to make up her own mind." He started clearing the dishes. "I'll do these. I'm all wound up and I can't sleep."

Bruce took them from his hands. "Leave it to me. It's only two bowls. You need to rest. Getraer wants you at Central first thing tomorrow morning. And it's _urgent_."

"Of course it is. The crap hits the fan. Where's Ponch now?"

"I guess he's home…or on a date maybe. But he was really worried about you, Bobby. He told me he'd see you tomorrow. He didn't want to bother you tonight."

Bobby took back the dishes and scrubbed. "God, I feel like a moron with the way I called him. I'd rather not talk to anyone else tonight. But sleep? You know I'll only say yes and then watch late movies until the reception turns to snow. Maybe some Christopher Lee Dracula flick is on or something."

Bruce put the rest of the chili away and dug in the freezer for chocolate chip ice cream. Bobby passed on it so Bruce spooned it from the container and his expression sobered. "Alright. Since you're so wide-awake, I want you to tell me what happened on the road. There was another victim, Bobby. And he's not talking. He was burned to death."

Bobby tensed and absentmindedly dried the bowls and utensils. "I know…Bruce…this is really hard for me."

Bruce came close and drew an arm over his shoulder. "Bobby, tell me the truth, did you have anything to do with this crash? Were you drunk? Even just a little? I know how wild those parties get."

"No! I mean…I had a drink or two, but I wasn't over the limit. Bruce, I was _exhausted_."

Bobby ducked from under his arm and avoided his gaze. What he was about to reveal might break his little brother's heart and that was the last thing he wanted. Bruce was not easily ignored and forcibly turned him around.

"Look at me, big brother. _Talk to me!_ I can handle it. And I want to help you with whatever it is you think you've done."

Bobby collapsed on the couch and covered his face. "It's not what I _think_, Bruce, it's what I _know_ I did!" His tone softened. "And you _can't_ help me."

Bruce sat on the edge and shook Bobby's leg. "Stop stalling and spill it. Let me be the judge of that." He squeezed into the corner of the couch. "If you can't trust me of all people, who can you trust? I promise I won't breathe a word to anyone, not even mom, unless you want me too."

Bobby sat upright quick. "No, don't even think about bringing mom into this! I have a feeling by tomorrow's newspaper she'll already know. And don't call anyone from Central."

Bobby folded his arms nervous. "What do I look like? The party line? Just _what are_ the papers gonna say tomorrow?"

Bobby scooted closer. "That…that I'm the one who caused this crash. I can just see the headline now. _CHP Officer responsible for explosive Freeway collision! Disgrace to his Unit and badge!"_

Bruce's eyes widened and his mouth hung open. He might as well have been punched in the gut. "No way. Not you."

"You asked for the truth so I'm telling you. I was at Drake Johnson's party and like an idiot I didn't leave until three am. I know it was me, Bruce. It wasn't deliberate."

"Of course it wasn't. I would never think that."

"Bruce, I…I fell asleep at the wheel. It must have been only five or ten seconds, but that's far more than you need for a major accident. Even on an empty Freeway."

As soon as Bobby finished the entire story Bruce jumped from the couch and pulled at his blonde hair distressed. "I can't believe this, Bobby! This is gonna ruin you! No wonder Getraer wants to see you."

Bobby sulked with a pillow. "Oh no, it can't possibly be because he cares about my well being?"

Bruce glared at him. "You know what I mean, Bobby. The Captain…everyone is going crazy. Sergeant Getraer called three times since you got home. Are you gonna tell them the truth?"

Bobby stared at him carefully. "What else can I tell them?"

"Tell them about the high beams from the other car and the gunshot you heard! And the gag. You have to mention the gag on her neck."

"You mean the gunshots I _allegedly_ heard, little brother. Of course I'll mention it, but maybe she was at her own _wild_ party if you catch my drift. I didn't have time to check the car or the wheels before it exploded with that guy…_Oh dammit…_Bruce, I'm as dead as he is now! If I wasn't so freaking tired I would've had the strength to pull him out."

"Bobby, you made the right call. She was stuck in the mud. You don't know… the guy could have already been dead from the crash. When it exploded, did you hear him?"

"What?"

"Did you hear him screaming when he caught on fire?"

Bobby put his head between his knees and clasped his hands behind his neck. He felt like a coiled spring ready to burst. "No…thank goodness for that. I only heard the roar of the fire."

"It might have been enough to wake him up, Bobby. And he didn't." Bruce sat next to him and guided him upright. "If it's any consolation, I would have saved her first too. You know the old adage, women and children come first. Dad always taught us that."

The shock of all the events hit Bobby full force and he mechanically rose from the couch. "Yeah, I know it. But the point is, a man is dead because of me. I'm done talking. I'm gonna have to repeat all this tomorrow."

"But Bobby, we have to think of a way to…"

"Stop it, Bruce! There's no getting out of this mess the easy way. I killed someone! I almost killed two people. I have to take responsibility for it somehow. I feel awful."

The tears that refused to come for Bobby welled up in Bruce's eyes. "I do too, believe me. Bobby, you don't think they'll arrest you?"

"I don't know, Bruce. This is way above my head now."

Bobby gazed at him. Bruce pouted like a little boy lost so Bobby walked over and hugged him tight. "It's okay, little brother. I'll be alright." Bobby wasn't sure _what_ he would be at this point.

Bruce refrained from sobbing, but cried nonetheless. "Bobby, they can't do that! They'll have to investigate! They'll find out about that other car and you'll be proven innocent. They can't disregard the fact that you risked your life to save them. That has to count for something!"

Bobby pulled away and firmly patted his shoulders. "Maybe, but I'm an Officer of the law, sworn to protect people, on or off duty. You don't get medals for just doing your job."

Bruce wiped his eyes and nose. "Yeah but…"

"Listen, Bruce. No matter what happens to me, this will have no reflection on you. I won't let it. If it does there'll be hell to pay. You are a fine cadet and you're gonna be the best cop on the force like Ponch and Jon Baker, they're _all_ good cops at Central! You'll be just like them."

"You're a great cop too. In your _own_ way."

Bobby lowered his gaze and his chest tightened with grief. Secretly he sometimes felt he was just thrust into this department on a fast whim to replace Baker – and that his presence, while tolerated, was highly unwelcome. Ponch was eager to fly solo. Who could replace six years of kinship with a guy like Baker?

Bobby reflected on his first day with Ponch and how he came _'hotdogging'_ onto the freeway like he owned the place. He thought of all the times when Ponch took the lead and charmed everyone – women young and old, children, and even orangutans. Bobby was often no more than chopped liver. Ponch was a hopeless optimistic while Bobby was often an unyielding realist and Ponch told him–warned him – that he needed to work on his abrasive manner. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned away from his brother.

"No, I'm not great. I'm done kidding myself. I'm just a cocky bastard that thinks he knows how to be a cop."

Bruce shook him. "You're wrong!"

"Goodnight, Bruce."

"Bobby wait…"

"I said goodnight. I…I love you, Bruce."

Bobby went to his room and slammed the door. He crashed onto his bed and gazed in despair at the ceiling. Tomorrow, his life as he knew it would be over.


	3. Forgery and deceit

**Reckless Honor**

**Chapter 3: Forgery and deceit**

Christian Davidson slammed the phone so hard he nearly split the receiver. He startled a few of his Japanese clients and immediately flipped his scowl into a grin.

"I'm sorry my friends, I received some bad news. Please do go on looking at the paintings. Take your time." His associate translated to them.

Davidson meandered to the window and stared dourly at the neon infused streets. He hated flying in planes, but the international market boomed and demanded art of the Western world.

_How dare that wetback wannabee cop give me an ultimatum?_ He seethed inwardly. It was the second time that CHP Officer Frank Poncherello called him from California. This was _his_ family and _his_ business. And now that _business_ remained unfinished. He fluffed his shock of white hair and frustration oozed out of every motion he made. Stacey was a sweet girl and too intelligent for her own good and that's what got her into this predicament. Davidson lamented that he didn't take Jordan's advice about shooting her.

_"There would be far too many questions when the body is found, Jordan."_ He insisted. Jordan was highly insulted.

_"Found? Those cop pigs can dig a hole to the center of the earth and they still wouldn't find her. That's how good I am!"_

_"I trust you are, I checked you out of course. You are supposed to be the best in the business, the best I can find anyway. But these are my rules. Make it look like an accident on the Freeway, but not during the day. It will draw too much attention."_

Jordan devised a perfect plan. Perfect in his eyes. _"She's a young broad, kids these days are always doing something stupid. I know just what to do."_

_"You leave the details of her little 'accident' to me, understand? Just do what you're paid for and do not mess up my shipments! That's priority and that's where your bread and butter comes from."_

Davidson snapped his attention back to the present. He cursed the fact that he kept Stacey after her mother was killed. His stepdaughter ran with a bad crowd in her teens and picked up a number of tricks.

_Dammit! No wonder she knew how to hot wire Jordan's car._ He thought angrily. And by sheer good fortune there happened to be a CHP Officer driving on that same road. Eddie was driving the van when Jordan shot at Stacey's wheel.

_"Everyone's gunna blame the Chippie. Mark my words."_ Eddie reassured Davidson after the accident. _"Two things. Nobody gets over it or totally forgives when a celebrity or __**law official**_ _screws up. Isn't it ironic that a guy who's supposed to protect the Freeways causes a deadly accident on it? The media will eat him alive and he'll lose all credibility. No one will even second guess what happened."_

Davidson sat back in his rolling chair and peered at the clients. They still chattered amongst themselves trying to decide on the Monet or Gauguin. Did it really matter? He tried not to laugh. The same talented forger painted and re-painted them and the Japanese art dealers bought them like candy.

He thought more about Stacey. After her mother's untimely death she cleaned up her act and went to college. She made a complete turn around and told him she wanted to be an art major. Davidson helped boost her grades by giving her an exclusive job as his assistant. He later came to regret that decision. For a time Stacey was a real asset to the museum. Her winning smile and bubbly personality won over almost all his clients and they bought many art pieces to display in their own galleries around the globe.

Stacey had two flaws to her detriment. She was stubborn and inquisitive. This led her to discovering files and bank statements that Davidson thought he had carefully concealed. It was Steven Miller's fault; Davidson's accountant became greedy and sloppy. He wanted 'in' on a business he knew nothing about. Stacey didn't shy away from a confrontation and Davidson used every excuse he could think of to prove he _wasn't_ the head of the largest forgery ring on the West Coast.

_It will be too easy to convince the police that poor Stacey was a troubled girl._

Davidson steepled his hands and shook his head as he remembered all the trouble he had with her mother, Ilana. Davidson married Ilana in 1973 when Stacey was twelve years old. Ilana was a sculptor and famous in her own right. She knew what she was getting into when she married Davidson, but she wanted no part in his forgery business, just the wealth and freedom to create her art. However, they frequently argued until one night in 1980 she threatened Davidson for the last time.

The police eventually wrote the crime off as a robbery-homicide since a lot of jewelry went missing and Davidson's private safe was cracked open and cleaned out. Unfortunately, Ilana's head suffered a similar fate and the murder weapon was one of her original sculptures. It was a small statue modeled from a childhood photo of Stacey holding a rose, and it was Ilana's favorite.

Davidson's airtight alibi and grief was utterly convincing. The day Stacey discovered the 'cooked books' and underhanded transactions she also demanded to know if her mother had been involved in the business.

Davidson refused to answer her directly and for weeks afterward she suspected every move he made to be fraudulent. Stacey eventually moved out, it was a long-time coming and she had gotten too comfortable in the seaside mansion. Stacey's discoveries left her with a bad taste for the art world as a whole and she told Davidson she wanted a simpler life. Ilana had loved her daughter and left her a fortune, but she wasn't much of a mother. Her career and prestige came first – galas, openings, and art shows around the world all left Stacey feeling abandoned.

Davidson played the sympathetic father-figure role to the hilt. It was necessary fuel to the fire which would soon find his stepdaughter at the bottom of a cliff.

_"She developed a drinking problem, Officer. I tried to help her and for a time she did rather well, but then I noticed her severe depression. I've been part of the family for ten years, and this wasn't the first time she acted so recklessly. She wanted attention and got it through misbehavior for a time when she was a teenager. AA and pills were out of the question. She still has many regrets over her mother. Maybe she wanted to take her own life?"_

Those were the half-truths Davidson told Officer Poncherello on the phone. Stacey rarely drank alcohol and she never suffered depression. Stacey only briefly mourned her mother's death. In many ways the two were strangers. The last time Stacey mentioned her mother was at the funeral.

_"It's a terrible irony that the thing she loved the most in the world was also what killed her." _

Now that Jordan and Eddie fouled up their assignment, Davidson needed to resort to a new plan before Stacey exposed him. And if the CHP Officers involved themselves any further, he would take care of them too.


	4. Partners on edge

**Reckless Honor**

**Chapter 4: Partners on edge**

"The Captain wants to set up a meeting right away, Nelson. And honestly, it doesn't look good for you." Sergeant Joseph Getraer told Bobby as they walked into his office. He shut the door behind them; everyone in the station knew this was to be a very private discussion.

Frank Poncherello sprang from his seat. He gave him a quick hug. It startled Bobby, but he accepted it.

"Hey, Ponch. I heard what you did for me. Thanks a lot." Bobby slapped his back.

"Hotdog, man, what have you gotten yourself into? I thought you were dead out there after you called! I'm so glad we found you and the girl."

"Maybe I should have been…" Bobby mumbled and took a seat. They looked at him strangely, but kept quiet. He never felt more nervous coming into Getraer's office. Every trace of arrogance melted from his demeanor. His shoulders drooped and he cast his eyes downward. "So, lay it on me. When are they gonna give me the boot?"

"Not so fast, Nelson. We are here to help you. Before you go in front of that Committee, before any of us does, we want you to go over what happened that night very carefully." Getraer explained.

"That's right, Bobby. We need it on record in case it goes to court too." Ponch added. "Just relax, man. We know this is tough. I saw the accident scene; you're a hero to that girl. The car was incinerated."

"I'm no hero, Ponch."

Bobby dreaded this moment, but he made up his mind last night to tell every detail exactly as he remembered it, and that included his error in judgment. When he at length finished, he literally felt the air in the room heat up as the tension rose. Getraer shook his head and rubbed his eyes from an oncoming migraine.

"Thank you for telling us, Nelson. And not leaving out your part in it." Getraer said grimly.

Bobby mustered up courage to finally look at Poncherello. His partner sat straight up and scarcely moved a muscle. He was poker faced – unusual for Poncherello except when making an arrest or dealing with criminals. The the fine lines around his mouth hardened in disgust. If he felt any sympathy like before, Bobby couldn't see a trace of it. Ponch rose and Bobby's gaze followed him. He didn't say one word, but simply left. Getraer looked at the ceiling, he knew this certain temperament in Poncherello, and it was like a volcano preparing to erupt. He wished Jon Baker were here to mediate. In Ponch's early years, many fights were quelled by Baker's peaceful, yet commanding nature.

Bobby jumped up and Getraer held his arm. "Wait a minute, Nelson. If I were you, I'd leave him alone for now. He needs to cool down."

"Cool down? He hasn't said a word to me."

"Trust me, you don't want him too."

Bobby looked at him desperately. "Sarge, he's my partner, he helped save my life. I _need_ to talk to him." Bobby ran out of the room before Getraer could stop him.

Ponch was halfway down the hall and Bobby slid on the newly waxed floors to catch up. He grabbed his shoulder. "Ponch, hold on!"

"What do you want, Bobby?" Ponch ground his teeth and took a defensive stance.

"Why don't you say anything? Why did you leave? Don't you care what happens to me?"

Ponch glared at him. "What do you want me to say, Bobby? You behaved recklessly, stupid, and you disgraced the entire Department. You killed someone, man! And may have injured a girl for life. Now you want me to feel _bad…_for _you?_"

Bobby leaned against the bulletin board thunderstruck. He never knew Poncherello to be this cold toward anyone, least of all his partners. Ponch wagged his hand dismayed. Bobby held his arm and Ponch shoved him.

"Don't you get it? Back off, Bobby. I need to be alone right now."

Bobby would not back down. "Ponch, what's the matter with you? I thought you cared about justice and finding the truth! I told you about the van, and the high beams and the gunshot, I'm sick of saying it all already!"

"Those were _incidental_ events, Bobby! And they'll be investigated. What you did was…" Ponch tightened his mouth and forced himself to keep cool. "Never mind. You _know_ what you did."

Bobby grabbed his collar. "You wanna know something? You're so damn quick to help every stray on the street, but you won't even give your own partner the benefit of the doubt! I thought you were better than that! I guess you're only out to serve Number 1, huh, Ponch? As long as it makes _you_ look good! As long as you get to be the _star!_"

His accusations struck a nerve, but Ponch tugged his hands off and shoved him away. They drew a crowd of officers from every room. Ponch poked Bobby in the chest and moved in on him until he was flat up against the wall.

"Listen to me, hotdog, this isn't the time or place to talk about this! But where was your head? All you had to do was stay at that stupid party overnight and call in late, or pull over on the side of the road and take a nap…You knew that, and you deliberately chose not to! As of now I don't have a partner. You blew it, man!"

Ponch's jaw twitched and his dark eyes blazed as his infamous Latino temper revealed itself.

"I don't support murderers!"

A collective gasp escaped the onlookers but they quickly went back to their business to avoid confrontation from either of the men. Ponch stormed off and Getraer came out of his office and looked at Bobby pitiably.

"Leave it alone for now, Nelson. _I'm warning you_. It's best if you go home."

Blood rushed to his ears and Bobby barely heard him. His face flushed with humiliation. "I am not a murderer." He whispered. "I am _NOT_ a murderer." He repeated louder. His temper exploded and he ran at Ponch.

"NO BOBBY!" Getraer yelled.

"Damn you, Ponch!"

Bobby leaped and tackled, and they fell out the exit and slammed onto the asphalt. Bobby flipped Ponch onto his back.

"Bobby, what the hell is wrong with you?" Ponch shouted. He raised his arms to block his frenzied punches and managed to get a few slugs in, but Bobby was too enraged to even feel them.

_"I AM NOT A MURDERER!"_ Bobby screamed at him, but his next actions nearly proved him wrong. He thrust his hands around Ponch's neck and was tempted to squeeze. Ponch's eyes sprung open with genuine fear and he grappled for Bobby's hands.

"Bobby, okay, okay, I slipped up. I didn't mean it." He choked out. "I was outta line. I'm sorry!"

The station door slammed open. Bruce, Getraer, Grossie, and Ben ran out to help.

"Bobby, stop it! Let him go!" Bruce yelled frightened.

"Bobby, you're not thinking straight! You don't want to do this. Then you _will _be a murderer!" Grossie chimed in flabbergasted. "We're still your friends! We believe you!"

Bruce was near tears. "Please Bobby! This isn't like you!"

Bobby's hands shook and he pulled them away. He didn't know what came over him, but it scared him out of his wits.

"Ponch…Oh God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

Ponch lifted his leg just high enough and kneed him hard in the groin. He pushed Bobby off fast. "Are you freaking crazy, man? Get a hold of yourself! You could have killed me!" Ponch stood up wobbly and tried to hide his trembling body. He wiped spots of blood off his mouth and discreetly ran his tongue across his teeth. They were all firmly in place.

Bobby doubled over from the blow, and was again blinded by anger. He tried to lunge but Bruce wrapped his arms around his middle and forced him back. Grossie and Ben blocked him.

"Bruce, let me go! You two get outta my way!"

"Not until you control yourself! Bobby, don't do this, you're only making things worse!"

"Nelson!" Getraer barked. "Stand down!"

Everyone stood at attention and Bobby had enough sense to do the same. Getraer marched over, unafraid of his outbursts. "I was going to give you a break, and keep you on duty until the Committee hearing, but now you ruined your chance. I told you to leave Ponch alone. I knew this would happen. There is no excuse for this behavior! As of now you are suspended until further notice and this incident will go on your permanent record. Now get to your locker and I want your badge and gun on my desk immediately. That's an order!"

"But Sarge, I…"

"I said that's an order! And assault any of my Officers again and you will find yourself behind bars, do you understand me, Nelson?"

Bobby fumed, but nodded.

"I didn't hear your answer_. Do you understand_?" Getraer repeated.

"Yes, Sergeant Getraer. I understand." Bobby's voice shook, but he refused to cry.

"Good, now move it. Grossman, Ben, you go with him and make sure he stays out of trouble."

"Right away, Sarge." Grossman said. He and Ben waited for Bobby to collect himself, and then cautiously followed him back into the station.

Getraer looked hard at Bruce. "As for you…_Cadet_ _Nelson…_I don't want any trouble from you either, got it? This is between your brother and the Department."

Bruce straightened up. He remembered what Bobby told him the night before. "I know, Sarge. I'll try to stay out of it."

"You _will_ stay out of it. Now get your helmet. You're riding with Poncherello until further notice."

Bruce's face lit up from the opportunity, but then he became downcast as he went inside. "Yes, Sarge. I'll be right back, Ponch."

Ponch straddled his motorcycle and put on his helmet. "Sarge, do you think that's a good idea right now?"

"Poncherello, I don't want that kid getting hurt. There's going to be a lot of bad fallout from this and Bruce doesn't deserve it. I know you'll have his back."

Ponch crossed his arms. "Of course I will. But the truth is Sarge…they're _both_ good guys. I meant what I said – I was outta line. But he forced my hand. I just can't stand to look at him right now. Ya know? I need time to think."

"Yeah, Poncherello, I know. Now you won't have to see him for a while."

Ponch put on his shades and stared at the Highway miserably. "I wonder how he'll take the suspension? I don't want that hotdog doing anything crazy."

"You mean like he just did?"

Ponch shrugged off the incident. "I've gotten madder than that at his age, Sarge. I've left a few guys eating through straws in my day. Us Chicanos play real dirty."

"I _can't_ imagine." Getraer said wryly. "But this isn't a Latin gang war. You are both CHP Officers and are expected to behave accordingly."

"Yes, Sir. Sarge, do you think I can…" Ponch hesitated to ask.

"Investigate what Bobby said?" Getraer put his hands on his waist and smirked. "Haven't you started on that already? What kind of cop are you?"

Ponch grinned sheepishly. "A smart one! One of your best! Yeah, I started to. He's worth that much, Sarge."

"All my Officers are. Go ahead, you have my _official_ permission, but don't take too long. The LAPD are conducting their own investigations and I don't want or _need_ any grief from them. There's enough of that going around."

Ponch nodded ruefully. "Understood. We're a family, and when one of us hurts, we _all _feel it. I'll take Bruce with me. I know he wants to do anything he can to help his big brother."


	5. Isolation

**Reckless Honor**

**Chapter 5: Isolation**

The last four days of his suspension were a turbulent roller coaster of emotions for Bobby and he isolated himself to the point that Bruce decided it wasn't worth coming home just to be ignored. He packed up and told him he was temporarily going to stay with Ponch.

The media swarmed like vultures. They called at all hours and even staked out front of their home, hoping to catch a glimpse or get a statement from either of the Nelson brothers. They were hounded further when a journalist discovered that Bruce was a _World Speedway _champion and CHP Cadet. Comparisons became inevitable. Bobby didn't blame Bruce for wanting some peace, but it still hurt him.

"_Fine! Leave! I don't care! I don't need you and your little happy-go-lucky self around here anymore! It annoys the hell out of me!"_ Bobby yelled at him. _"Go stay with your new __**partner!**__"_

Four days without at least _seeing_ his brother may as well been four years for Bobby, but tempers raged and Bobby did not want any more confrontations.

He visited the scene of the accident first thing every morning before the press and cops arrived. He desired to look for material clues, but there were none left-over. Bobby spent his afternoons combing deserted beach spots and taking cold swims and long jogs. At night he took part in his favorite pastime and zoomed in circles around the speed-racing track, reflecting on the course of his life until the accident.

The newspapers had a field day and plastered Bobby's CHP photo on the front page, along with an attractive picture of Stacey on the inset. They painted him to be a CHP Officer with _'insubordination issues' _and he was rumored to be a 'party animal' whose 'entourage' consisted of juvenile guys that couldn't make the CHP cut. There was a grain of truth about his friends, but it was a cheap shot on a generally nice bunch.

The public and various talking heads demanded that the CHP start closely monitoring the after-hours activities of its Officers and instill stricter requirements. Bobby had to hand it to Sergeant Getraer and his fellow officers; they displayed a lot of CHP loyalty. Getraer made it publicly known that there was an ongoing investigation because of circumstances that occurred before the crash. _"These investigations could ultimately clear Officer Nelson of certain wrongdoings for which he's been accused." _

The other officers made no disparaging comments, except for the fact that he was known as _'Hotdog'_ Nelson for his wild rides on the Freeway when chasing down offenders. His training Officer, Frank Poncherello, declined to make any statements. Bruce's words on a live news broadcast touched him. _"I love my big brother, and I will support him for as long as he needs and wants me to. He's a good man and a great cop and he doesn't deserve this excessive scrutiny."_

Bobby learned about Stacey through a follow-up article. She came from a privileged, but broken home, and her mother was an artist tragically murdered in her own home. Stacey graduated from the _Academy of Art University_ with honors, and worked with the famed Art curator Christian Davidson. She wrote articles for art and leisure magazines and was a dancer in her spare time. Being a bit of a tomboy, she enjoyed athletic pursuits. They put a wholly positive spin on her 'charmed' life and in doing so, pushed Bobby's career and reputation deeper in the grave. Bobby didn't fault her; the poor girl wasn't even out of the hospital. The papers had little to say on the dead victim and his identity was yet to be released.

-Oo-

Wearing a black hoodie and dark shades, and helped along by a little beard growth, Bobby crept out the back window of his apartment and rode his motorbike to Venice Beach. The place was a hub of boisterous excitement. Children played, danced, skated and filled up on cotton candy and junk food while harried parents chased after them from ride to ride. Street performers displayed all sorts of crazy stunts and talents and artists sold their conceptions for dollars and cents. Young lovers walked hand in hand and macho guys tried to impress their girlfriends and win prizes at games of skill and chance. Bobby remembered the time he won a giant pink and white panda for his date when he competed in the wild paint-gun game, _Shoot the Freaks._ He later convinced her to give it to a crying child because the Panda became a third wheel every time he tried to make romantic moves on her.

Bobby scanned the crowds with cop-like vigilance as he munched on a spicy, loaded hotdog. While a haven of fun, places like Venice Beach were also a paradise for pickpockets, thieves and other criminal types. The public came here to be carefree, but were also careless with their purses and wallets.

The sun reached its peak and Bobby sweltered. He removed the hoodie, and underneath wore a fitted navy t-shirt and light blue gym shorts. He folded his arms and inhaled deep breaths of warm, salty air. It felt good to be out of his self-imposed prison and so far nobody recognized him. He closed his eyes, but was quickly struck with images from the accident. He couldn't count how many times he envisioned the white Ford go over the ridge and the explosive ending.

A very familiar voice broke his reverie and he looked to the end of the Promenade. Officer Kathy Linahan stood behind a gray and blue CHP recruitment stand laughing and chatting with interested passersby and trying to avoid the flirty advances of a spiffy, Italian LAPD Officer.

Bobby wanted to come to her aid, but he hastily turned aside. He lowered his head and leaned over the railing. Kathy had very sharp vision and would have spotted him in a minute. He was about to hunt for a new rest stop when he thought he heard a young girl scream for help.

All the noise from the flashing bells and whistles and competing music from boom boxes and crowds drowned her out. Bobby wasn't about to ignore it. He broke into a run until he heard her again. Her cries echoed from a secluded section near a ramshackle storefront. Bobby stopped short near the store. An oily faced derelict in grimy clothes wrapped his arm around a small red-haired girl of twelve and he attempted to fondle her.

"Get your hands off her!" Bobby shouted.

"He has a knife! Help me!" She begged.

"Keep calm, hon. Don't struggle, you'll only provoke him." Bobby warned in a gentle manner. His body and fists clenched for action.

The derelict knew an undercover authority figure when he saw one. He forcibly shoved the girl on the ground and took off running onto the beach. Bobby slid beside her and helped her stand.

She trembled. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to…he asked me for the…the…time and…"

Bobby quickly stroked her hair and they walked away. "I know, it's okay. Listen, hurry and go up to the CHP booth at the end of the Promenade. Can you do that?

"Yeah. I have to find my mom." She sniffled.

"The Officer will help you. Tell her there's an 11-99 by the…"

The girl stared at him confused. "What's that?"

"Never mind, just tell her _Bobby_ needs backup! I'll catch this guy for you!"

Bobby took off fast. He was sorry he let him get away but the victim was the first priority. It wasn't as if he had his partner or a motorcycle to help make the chase. A rotten body odor stench led Bobby straight to the rocks, where he saw the derelict bent over to catch his breath. Bobby attempted to grab him but the derelict caught him by surprise and pulled out his knife. He swung it around and babbled.

"Leave me alone, pig! I was only trying to cop a feel!"

"You dirty pervert! That was a child!"

"The younger the better!"

Bobby cursed and rushed at him, but just missed getting the knife plunged into his chest. A crowd formed, unsure of what to do, and it made the situation more precarious.

"Put the knife down now, Sir." Bobby said firmly. "You're not getting away."

"No way, man! This is my ticket out. I'll go find me someone else to have fun with!"

Bobby's cop instincts kicked him hard. The man no longer stared at him, but at an adorable black-haired baby toddling in their direction from by the rocks. His mother lagged behind, completely focused on her son and unaware of what was happening. The derelict grinned, displaying rows of crooked, brown and yellow teeth.

"You come after me and that baby will be mince meat! I mean it, pig!"

Bobby took his threat seriously and sensed the lunatic was ready to seize the baby anyway. The moment he turned around, Bobby dove for his legs and knocked him into the surf. The man came up furious and jabbed his knife in the air, slicing Bobby's arm. Bobby flinched, and socked his face. A large wave crashed over them and Bobby lost his balance. He quickly righted himself and found the man crouched and dipping his head under the water over and over. He was desperate to find his weapon. Bobby picked him up by the seat of his pants and the back of his neck.

"Officer Nelson! Bring him here!" Kathy shouted and ran to the water's edge.

The derelict laughed and thrashed in Bobby's grip. He vainly attempted to reach for Kathy.

"Now there's someone I want to play with! Come over and give me a kiss."

"Shut your mouth and put your hands behind your head." Bobby thrust him forward onto his stomach. He made a grab for his waist and then realized he didn't have his handcuffs. He squatted near Kathy. She wrinkled her nose and put her fist up to block his smell. She reached for her cuffs.

"Apparently our friend has never heard of a bar of soap." Bobby said.

"I like to be dirty." The bum chuckled.

"You're a very sick man." Kathy said.

"Hey! You can't treat me like this! I'm a citizen, I have my rights!"

"_Shut up!_" Kathy and Bobby said at the same time.

"I'll handle this, Linahan!" The LAPD Officer ran over, he pushed Bobby aside and put his knee on the derelict's back to hold him down. He told him his rights and cuffed his wrists.

"Hey wait a minute! This was _Officer_ Linahan's collar." Bobby rose to full height and stood beside Kathy protectively.

"Sorry, pal. In this game you have to be quicker than that."

"Let it go, Bobby. Officer Trotta was assigned to help me out today anyway." Kathy shrugged. She attempted crowd control. "Okay everyone, the excitement is over and he's in custody. Please go back to whatever you were doing and don't let this spoil your day. Venice Beach is still a lovely spot to visit throughout the year. Thank you!"

Officer Trotta gestured a thumbs up to Bobby. "Hey man, great job! You should consider being a cop and joining our force…" The Officer realized whom he was speaking to. "Oh, Bobby…_Nelson_. _Err_…right. Well, maybe you should come over to us anyway, because you do this a lot better than watching the roads!"

Bobby was tempted to punch the Officer's smug face. Kathy held his arm and stared at the cop angrily. "Officer Trotta, why don't you just buzz off and go do _your _job? Or maybe I should tell your superior that all you did was try to get a date instead of helping me watch the crowds?"

Bobby smirked. "Yeah, and don't forget to take full credit for the arrest, the LAPD is great at doing that!"

Officer Trotta dragged the bum across the sand and couldn't resist a snide remark. "At least we're not hypocrites! We don't tell people to drive safely and then kill them on the Freeway! See you around, _Chippies!_"

Bobby was about to run after him and Kathy tugged his shirt. "Bobby, no! It's not worth it. He's a jerk and makes the LAPD look bad. Come with me."

"I have to get out of here, Kathy. Everywhere I go something bad happens."

"Apprehending a pedophile is not a bad thing at all. You're not leaving until I patch up that arm. I have a first-aid kit at the booth."

Bobby stared his wound. Rivulets of blood streamed onto his hand. "Forget it, the saltwater will heal it. I have to retrieve the weapon before a kid finds it and gets hurt."

Bobby ran into the water. The knife stuck out of the sand for a disaster waiting to happen if someone passed by and stepped on it. He picked it up by the tip of the handle and gave it to Kathy.

"Here you go, Kathy. There's your weapons evidence. Now I really gotta run."

Kathy took the knife, and pulled out her cuffs again. Her pretty brown eyes danced in amusement. "Do I have to take you by force, Bobby Nelson?"

Bobby laughed and raised his hands in surrender. "As tempting as that sounds, no."

-Oo-

The iodine Kathy slathered on hurt more than the actual knifing. Bobby cringed and put on a bold face as she bandaged almost his entire forearm.

"_Jeesh, _Kathy, are you planning to ship me to Egypt and have me locked in a pyramid?"

Kathy giggled. "Bobby, I needed enough to staunch the bleeding, thankfully it's not so deep that you need stitches. You might want to get a tetanus shot, that knife was rusted. Trotta was right. You did a great job. The little girl you saved thinks you're a dreamboat."

Bobby squared his shoulders proudly. "Really? That's cool."

"Yeah, she claims she saw you on TV, but I think she has you confused with the hot guy from that modeling movie last night. He resembled you a little bit."

Bobby laughed and rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Kathy. Just burst my bubble. Maybe she did see me on TV, the damn reporters won't leave me alone until they know what side of the bed I sleep on and what I eat for breakfast."

"I'm sorry. You know, they might as well put up media circus tents around Central too. Ponch is ready to beat them with his stick. But anyway, I'm gonna make sure Sergeant Getraer knows about this and puts it into your personnel file."

"That I'm a dreamboat TV-star look-a-like?" He grinned. "_Sweet._"

"No, silly! My report on the violent homeless guy."

"Oh, sure. It will look swell next to the big, fat _'Negligent Homicide'_ report."

Kathy sighed and rubbed his shoulders. "Bobby, falling asleep at the wheel is not negligent homicide, at least it's very rare that it is. You weren't under a dangerous influence of any drugs or alcohol. It was purely an accident. I believe that. And I really think there's more to this girl's story. If she was shot at, you could have been killed too. I think somebody tried to set you up on the spur of the moment."

Bobby felt very reassured by her words; Kathy Linahan was a compassionate woman and upstanding Officer that always said the right thing at the right time. He'd never forget the bravery she displayed when she talked a depressed, angry man out of blowing up an entire City block and a slew of CHP Officers with Nitroglycerin. She was given an excellent commendation for her actions. But he and Ponch knew it taxed her nerves for weeks afterward. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"Thank you, Kathy. That sounds reasonable. I was set up because I happened to be there. Good thinking, Officer!"

Kathy tapped her forehead. "You boys are not the only ones who can solve mysteries. I grew up reading Nancy Drew and the Boxcar Children."

"It was Hardy Boys and Sherlock all the way for me. No wonder you're a fine cop now."

"Thanks…_umm,_ you look like you want to know something else."

Bobby nodded soberly. "Kathy, how's Bruce? I really miss that munchkin."

Kathy grinned. "He really misses you too. You'd be very proud of him, Bobby. I have a good feeling that by the end of the month Sergeant Getraer will make a special announcement."

A rush of happiness filled Bobby. "And little Cadet Nelson will be _Officer_ Bruce Nelson! That's fantastic. I _am_ proud of him."

Kathy gazed at him sympathetically. "And if it means anything to you, Ponch is doing fine too. I know for a fact he's out there trying to put the clues together. He still cares, Bobby."

Bobby wanted to believe it, but he wouldn't have been surprised if Poncherello cast him off forever. "Thanks for telling me, Kathy. When you see him, tell him I'm sorry for everything. Last time I tried to apologize I got kicked in the nuts."

Kathy stifled a laugh, she was actually glad she didn't witness the fight; she heard it was brutal. "I sure will. So, what will you do now?"

Bobby slid off the stool with a determined glint in his eyes. "I'm gonna sneak back home for a shower and shave, put on my best casuals, and force my way into that hospital. Nothing will ever be right if I don't talk to Stacey Lang."


	6. Forgiveness

**Reckless with Honor**

**Chapter 6: Forgiveness**

Bobby lied to get in to see Stacey. At this point the hospital only allowed family members to visit, despite numerous attempts from concerned friends and co-workers. He took a big chance, considering his face splayed in the newspapers for days now.

"I'm her fiancée, Bobby…_Torvald._ I was away visiting my parents when this happened. Please let me see Stacey. I don't want her to be alone." He begged the front-desk nurse with as much pathos as he could muster and dredged up a few tears.

"I don't know if that's possible, Mr. Torvald, we have strict rules from…" The nurse struggled with an answer. The rules were ridiculous in her eyes. The handsome young man stood before her disheveled and fraught. She hadn't seen a man's tender reaction like that in years, and then again, it was only on hospital soap operas. She was a believer in true love.

Bobby clenched the sides of the hospital desk. "Please let me in, just for a little while? She needs me. We have to…discuss our wedding plans." That clinched it. The nurse took pity and told him the room number.

"Down the hall, make a right, she is in 115A. I'm very sorry this happened. She's such a beautiful girl."

"Thank you…yes, she is." He mumbled.

Bobby attempted to remember Stacey's face in person, but the only distinct light source at the accident was the explosion fire. She was slender and long-limbed between 5'7 and 5'8 in height. His memories were spotty and they were both covered in soot and mud. The only pressing concern he had was getting her to safety, not asking her on a date.

As Bobby walked the corridor the pungent scent of antiseptic and lemons sickened him. He had distaste for hospitals, having spent days at a time in them during his father's struggle with pancreatic cancer. On the night of his death he held on long enough for Bobby to make a vow that he would always look out for Bruce and care for his well-being. And Bruce said the same for Bobby. Neither had broken the promise…until now.

As much as the Nelson boys still loved their mother, their respect for her dwindled when she married just a little over a year later. Bruce took after his mother in many ways; he was sweet, mild, and sensitive while Bobby came off as stern and unsentimental. But Bobby had a lot of love to offer in his own way. He was fiercely loyal and protective. Bobby had trouble warming up to his stepfather and Bruce fell depressed nearly the entire year. As soon as Bruce graduated high school, Bobby convinced him to leave Philadelphia and go to California to make a new start. Time since healed the family rift and both followed in their father's footsteps and became cops.

Bobby entered the room and was startled by Stacey's dormant figure. The muted lights cast a sickly aqua tone over her lily-white skin. His heart trembled and he clenched and unclenched his hands into fists as he went to the bed. He pulled up a chair with a quick glance at the dripping IV and heart monitor. The steady beeps were a good sign. He leaned as close as he could near her face, and spoke in whispers.

"Stacey, my name is Officer Bobby Nelson. _I…I…uhh,_ I'm here as a friend. Can you hear me? Can you give me a sign?" Bobby almost laughed at his question.

_What do_ _I_ _think?_ _I'm talking to an angel?_

He hoped she could be so angelic as to forgive him. When Bobby revived her that night, she was coherent, but Bobby wasn't a doctor; he may have missed a cracked rib or sprained limb. Right now she looked on her deathbed with a cast around her wrist.

The heart monitor's pulsations picked up speed and her eyelids fluttered open. She was merely resting. Stacey turned in his direction and Bobby was awed by the clarity of her crystal-blue eyes. Her light brown hair fell in mussy waves and curls just past her shoulders and fanned around the pillow. Her inquisitive gaze pierced every fiber in him and heightened his guilty conscience.

"Who…what are you doing here?" She asked.

"Don't be afraid. I just want to talk to you. Can you talk to me?"

Stacey nodded and then slowly raised a hand to her throat. "Yeah. Can I have…water please?"

Bobby rose up fast. "Anything you want. I'll be right back, there's a fountain outside the door. Is that all? Can I get you something to eat?"

"No, thank you. Just water."

He grabbed a coffee mug off her nightstand and noticed a clear bag with her muddied clothes and wallet inside. He made a mental note to check them out. He returned and found her trying to raise the bed up and he did it for her. Bobby passed her the water and waited for her to drink. Color crept back into her cheeks. Her pert lips regained a natural pink tone and her manner appeared more lucid. When she finished she handed him the cup and smiled. Her eyes crinkled merrily and Bobby smiled back. The nurse was right and the grainy photo in the newspaper did Stacey no justice.

"I've been awake on and off for two days and you're the first person to come see me…I think. I'm much better now. I really want to go home." She lamented.

"I don't blame you. I tried to visit when you were first brought here but either they kicked me out because I wasn't family, or you were sleeping. I was very worried about you." Bobby admitted.

Stacey was heavily sedated for most of her stay, which he found a little unusual. Her stepfather ordered her treatment while he was out of the country.

"I'm done sleeping. I'm not dead yet."

Bobby chuckled nervously. "No, you sure aren't."

Her eyes lit up in recognition. "Wait…oh wow, it's you. You're the man who saved my life! _Oh…thank you! _Thank you so much!" She held out her hand and Bobby grasped it.

It was time to reveal the truth. Bobby's knees wavered like jelly and he sank into the chair. An overwhelming sadness enveloped him and he couldn't fight it. The last time he truly cried was when his father died while he held his hand. He didn't let go of Stacey's hand. His voice stunted and he lowered his head near her lap in shame.

"My name is Bobby Nelson, Stacey. And …I'm the man who pulled you out of the wreck…and the man who almost killed you…I…I killed your friend."

Bobby's tears spilled freely on the hospital linens. His whole form convulsed and his voice cracked. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry this happened to you! Please forgive me, Stacey. Please! I screwed up so bad! _I'm sorry…"_

He wasn't sure how long he kept his head on his arms, but a gentle stroking over his brow and hair eased his tension and he raised his head. Stacey stared at him with such an undeserved compassion that he cried a little more. She put her palm on his cheek and shook her head.

"Bobby…no. No, it wasn't your fault."

"Yes it was! I fell asleep at the wheel and the next thing I know your car…"

Stacey gripped his chin and practically forced his gaze. "Bobby, don't torture yourself. _It wasn't you_." She shook her head again and started to cry too. Bobby sat up fast and wiped his eyes. He reached for a box of tissues and handed her some.

"You didn't cause my accident." She repeated a few times as she reflected on the collision.

"What do you mean? I know I did. I was right behind you. I sideswiped your car."

"Bobby, I was chased and shot at. He blew my tire off and his high beams blinded me; they must have blinded you too. I heard a car behind me that hit their brakes hard, but it never touched my car. That was must have been you. My wheel flew off after that and I lost control and…you know the rest."

Bobby dried his eyes and instantly fell into cop mode. "I'll never forget it. What do you mean chased? Why would anyone shoot at you? There was another man in your car and he didn't survive the explosion. Who was he?"

Stacey raised her eyes skyward with a tight, hopeless smile . "Bobby, the man in the car was already dead. He was shot. It wasn't even my car." She held up her right wrist. Bobby ran his fingers over the reddened welt.

"Rope burns? How?"

"I was kidnapped to some warehouse and I escaped after a few hours. I hot wired the car and sped away for my life. I didn't realize there was a body inside until I was near that ridge. I nearly freaked out."

Bobby looked at her amazed and his suspicions fell into near perfect place. His mind swam with a renewed enthusiasm. He picked up the bag on her nightstand and sniffed her clothes carefully. The white gag was still inside.

"What are you doing with my clothes?"

"I remember you smelled like alcohol but when I gave you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, there was none on your breath. I didn't taste it either." He caught her blush and she gently ran her fingers over her lips. Bobby smiled. "I only smelled minty bubble gum. Maybe a little whiff of shrimp with garlic sauce?"

Stacey managed a hearty laugh. "Yes, I had Chinese food that night."

Bobby was glad to make her laugh, but he fell sober again. "I read your hospital reports, and your blood alcohol level was normal. It didn't make any sense. Nothing adds up."

"I swear to you I wasn't drunk, Bobby. The kidnappers doused me with alcohol. I don't know why they went through all that trouble."

"I'm glad they did. Otherwise we never would have…met." He said quietly.

It was an awkward thing to say, considering that she would have been dead sooner, but Stacey felt very comforted by it and she stroked his arm. He could tell on a normal day that she was a very affectionate woman. It reminded him of his mother. While Bruce savored her doting approach, Bobby often shied away. But that never stopped his mom from showing love to both her boys. They were her pride and joy. Bruce always said, their mother didn't raise dumb kids. It was time to solve this case.

Bobby paced the room lightheaded and ready for action. "Stacey, who are these people that kidnapped you? Why did they?"

"I don't know who they are, I couldn't even see their faces and they wore all black. I think I know why they did it, it's a long story."

"I have no other plans tonight. I want to know every detail you remember."

Stacey unexpectedly tensed and folded her arms across her chest. "Why should I tell you?" She stared warily at the nurse's call button. "How do I know you're not with them? That you didn't come here to find out exactly what I know and finish the job?"

Bobby was taken aback by her reservations, but they were practical. "Stacey, if I wanted you dead I wouldn't have rescued you from the explosion. You have to believe me. I want to make just as much sense of this as you do."

She held her head and shuddered. "I'm really sorry. I have no one to turn to about this. I can't trust anyone now."

Bobby practically jumped in the bed and held her arms gently. "Yes you can. You have me. You can trust me."

She stared deep into his eyes. "But who are you? You said you're _Officer_ Bobby Nelson. Show me some proof. Where's your badge?"

Bobby sighed. "Stacey, I know this won't help you believe me, but I don't have my badge. I was suspended until further notice right after the accident. It was my fault for losing my cool. They stripped me of my ID, badge, gun, everything. I'm not LAPD; I'm with the California Highway Patrol."

Stacey glared at him, and then her face softened. It was foolish to doubt the man who risked his life for hers. "How amazing is that? I mean, that you just happened to be on the road. I want to believe you."

"You can, Miss Lang." A male voice spoke from the doorway. "I can vouch for him. I'm Officer Frank Poncherello and Bobby Nelson is…_my partner_."

Bobby looked up and a hopeful grin spread across his face. Ponch stood with full authority in his CHP uniform and held up his badge. "You're not alone anymore, Stacey, I can promise you that."

Stacey was delighted and cried openly. "Oh thank you! Thank you so much! Bobby, please help me. I'm so scared."

Bobby stroked the back of her neck and rocked her. "You don't have to be afraid anymore. You're really brave, Stacey, but now we're taking over. We got the best man I know on our side." Bobby slowly released her. "Just give me a minute, okay?"

Stacey nodded and reached for more tissues. "Sure."

Bobby snapped his finger and grinned at her. "Oh, and uh, if the nurse comes in asking about your fiancée, Mr. _Torvald_…_err_…well, that's me."

Stacey giggled. "Don't worry, I won't say anything. I have _no_ complaints."

Bobby winked at her and approached Ponch. He had never been in a more affectionate mood. He grabbed Ponch in a strong, manly hug. And they stumbled backward and laughed.

"Easy there, hotdog! Or you might ruin that stoic reputation you got."

"I don't care. This is the _new me. _Did you hear everything she said?"

"I heard enough to know that I've been a huge fool, Bobby. Would you mind coming outside?"

Bobby looked at Stacey and she was rightly confused. "Don't worry, It's police business."

Ponch and Bobby went into a small waiting lounge.

"Bobby, the coroner reports came in on the body. I begged Sarge to put a rush on it. The body was burned beyond facial recognition but they found evidence of a gunshot wound to the heart. Clean shot, didn't even bleed out that much. The bullet was still inside, but its been partially melted and that's making it harder to trace. They should have a positive ID from his dental records within the week."

"Then everything Stacey said fits. Ponch…_I'm innocent!_" The word 'innocent' struck his psyche enormously and he stepped away to face the window and catch his breath. He closed his eyes and hung his head. "No…_no, dammit!_ It still doesn't change the fact that I messed up. I didn't take precaution on the road and nearly killed Stacey and myself. I deserve whatever's coming to me from the CHP. They should just cut to the chase and fire me already."

Ponch gripped his shoulder. "No way. Bobby, I'm sorry. It's over with. It was a mistake and you learned from it big time. That's what young people do. Remember my best friend was killed way back because of a stupid drag race and I blamed myself for it? You told me that I'm not perfect; that there was nothing I could've done about it. Well you're not perfect either. The best you can do now is take care of her."

"That's exactly what I'm gonna do. And who is perfect? Huh?" Bobby motioned to leave but Ponch grabbed his arm.

"I'm not finished, man. I really blew my top when I should have listened to your side of the story and helped you…not just because we're partners, because we're friends." Ponch felt good inside to say it. Jon Baker treated him the same way and it was time to pay it forward.

Bobby glanced at him, his eyes stung with tears. "You really mean that, Ponch? You don't think I'm a murderer anymore?"

Ponch cringed, he felt terrible he ever called him that. "Bobby, I was talking out of anger. It was wrong."

Bobby smiled half-hearted. "I'm sorry I went ballistic on you. I don't know where my head was. Partners need to protect each other, not kill each other."

He would never forget the look of fear in Poncherello's eyes when his fingers tightened around his throat. All his deep-rooted hostility and insecurities boiled to the surface in that one moment. Bobby knew he had a lot to improve on, and he was ready and willing to make a fresh start.

"Look, I don't care if we're not partners on the job anymore, Ponch. I mean, I do, but…Bruce could really use your training. You're the best teacher I've ever had."

"Thanks, hotdog. But I can't take much credit. I had the best teacher too."

"Jon Baker?"

"That's right. Hey, one of these days when everything settles down I'm gonna give him a call, and you and me are gonna take a road trip to Wyoming."

Bobby grinned. "I'd really like that. I heard so much glowing praise about this guy I'm beginning to wonder if he's real. I have big shoes to fill."

"Oh he's real, a first-class guy. Then it's all set. And no, you can never fill Jon's shoes, because you need to learn to fill your own. You made that very clear to me the first day we met and you were right, _Robert, 'Bobby' Torvald, 'Hotdog' Nelson_!"

Bobby nodded glumly and Ponch cocked his brow. "So, _are you sure_ you're not upset about the partner arrangement?"

"As of now, there is no arrangement. I'm still on suspension by a thread. You know I love Kathy, and the lady needs my help out there."

"She's still glowing about what you did at the fairgrounds. She's a 'Bobby fan' for life."

Bobby grinned. "That's all good, but are _we_ still friends?"

Ponch stuck up his thumb and a toothy smile spread across his face. "Absolutely. And right now we're gonna do everything we can to help the beautiful young lady in there. I have a feeling the kidnapper will try again. You know they will."

Bobby's face darkened. His hand maneuvered toward his waist as if he wanted to draw his weapon. "Definitely. Now that it's all over the papers that she survived they'll be looking for her. We have to keep her safe."

Ponch saw a glare of revenge in Bobby's eyes. "We will. We'll see to it they're tossed behind bars, or whatever the punishment may be. But everything will be done _by the book_, Bobby. Remember that, okay?"

Bobby cleared his head and his arm dropped limply. "Yeah. Ponch, what about Getraer? And everyone at Central probably hates my guts for what I did to you. I know what they're thinking; the cocky new guy finally gets beaten down a few notches. I can't blame them."

Ponch shook his head. "Once upon a time _I_ was the cocky new guy. You got them all wrong. They feel for you. They want to believe your story and deep down we all know it could have happened to anybody. First thing tomorrow I'm gonna have a long talk with the Sarge. Believe it or not he's got your back too."

"Really? I know he did with the media."

"Right now he's working his _charm_ and keeping the Captain from firing you until the investigation is over. Because honestly, they want you out."

Bobby laughed. "Good old Sarge!"

"You're too good of a cop to let go. We need you out there on the streets, man. And Bruce needs you too."

Bobby rubbed his eyes and massaged the severe knot in his neck. "Oh Bruce, poor kid. He's taking this pretty hard. I've ignored him for days. Practically kicked him out."

Ponch patted his back. "Hey, he's been a great roommate, but the kid keeps tracking up my rugs with that dirt bike! Bruce understands, don't you know he loves his big brother? He practically worships you."

"I get the feeling he does, but maybe now he knows I'm only human and I can make some pretty dumb mistakes."

"He knows it, Bobby, but that's a part of love, covering over the flaws and forgiving each other."

"Thank you Father Francis." Bobby kidded, but he was grateful to hear it. He needed forgiveness more than anything.

Ponch ribbed him. "You know it's all true. Now go wash your face and make yourself presentable for Stacey. She's enamored with you, man. I can see it. Once all this is over I think you have a real chance with…"

Bobby shoved him out of the room. "_Ponch!_ First things first."

"I know, I know. I'm just being optimistic. She's a cutie! Did you see those eyes? Gave me the shivers, man. Hypnotic! That's a first for you."

Bobby frowned. "Hey, while we're on the topic, will ya stop telling me all my girls are dogs? You know I hate it when you do that. It's pretty mean, partner."

"Alright, Stacey is a _FOX!_ She's the cat's meow!"

Bobby shrugged and had to laugh. "I appreciate the optimism. I missed that."

Ponch chuckled. "So did I, I felt like a real jerk. Hey, I guess I am sometimes, but I always come around, don't I?"

"Yeah, Ponch, you sure do."


	7. Investigation

**Reckless Honor**

**Chapter 7:** **Investigation**

Ponch and Bruce dismounted their motorcycles and stood in front of the run-down building. A number of windows were smashed and paint peeled off the walls and rusted doors. Dust and debris flew around their feet.

"Ponch, I don't think anybody's used this warehouse in a long time." Bruce remarked.

Ponch flicked on a light switch. "On the outside, maybe. But it's obvious someone does, because they still pay the electric bills… we can have that traced. Companies rent space all the time. And then there's this." He went ahead inside and ran a gloved finger across an old poker table surface and it came up clean. He crouched and picked up two blue poker chips. "There were definitely people hangin' in here. Sloppy ones too, leaving wrappers and snacks all over the floor. Keep looking around, we need evidence, Bruce."

"Right!" Bruce stopped short in the center of the room. "Ponch, you know what I'm thinking?"

"What do you say, man?"

"If the kidnappers kept Stacey out here, she could have screamed and someone passing may have heard her through the windows. I think they kept her locked up in a back room. And of course she had the gag on."

Ponch smiled. "You're really starting to think like a cop, Bruce. Keep it up."

They found the door to an inner room ajar and cautiously went inside, Ponch shined his flashlight. "Bruce, you were right. There's a broken chair and look at this." He held up a piece of frayed, knotted rope. "Our Miss Stacey is a regular Houdini."

"That would explain her rope burns. If I know anything about her, she's determined. She broke loose and while they were in the back loading the truck, made her escape through the front but set off the fire alarm."

"No wonder it's so damp in here. Who told you that? Bobby?"

"Yeah. He called me to apologize and bring me up to date on the case, Ponch. It was quick, but I was glad to hear his voice."

"And I'm glad to hear the Nelson brothers stopped feuding. Now I can have my bedroom back and my rugs shampooed." Ponch looked over the faded bloodstains on the ropes. "I give Stacey a lot of credit. When you're fighting for your life you'll pull out all the stops. Somebody up there was looking out for her." Ponch shoved it in an evidence bag. He maneuvered his light around the room. "You notice something about the air in here?"

Bobby nodded. "It's very musty…it's dry!"

"Because there are no windows. It's a perfect place to store artwork, right? Out there I saw mold on the walls. There's too much moisture."

Bruce paced outside the room. "I'm surprised this place wasn't already checked out by the cops."

"Bruce, the cops don't know anything about this crime. By the time they showed up with the fire department, Stacey and the kidnappers were gone and so were the paintings. Stacey's stepfather is being very careful about not letting her speak. But it's too late for that. His goose will be fried when he gets back to the states. I didn't like his voice when I talked to him. It was too…_oily_. He definitely has something to hide. I don't believe for one minute that he's concerned for Stacey's welfare."

"From what you told me, I agree. Speaking of oil…" A flat package caught Bruce's eye. It was tucked within a corner behind two large oil drums, broken crates and mounds of old hay and newspapers. He ran over and pulled it out. He slit open the brown paper wrapping carefully and gasped.

"Ponch! Look at this! It's gotta be a Picasso!"

"Let me see that." Ponch looked it over. "_Ahh,_ the lovely Dora Maar, she was Picasso's lover. And this is _'Head of a woman.'_ Or as I used to call it as a kid, _La chica con narices gordas_. My mom had a print of this in her room. It freaked me out."

"You? Afraid of a _beautiful _woman like that?" Bruce teased.

"Shocking, huh? I think my mom kept her in there so I would stop bothering her at night and sleep in my own bed. I used to be afraid that Dora's head would fly off the canvas and attack me. But my mom said if I stayed in my room and kept the door shut nice and tight, she'd _never _get in. Because she's just a floating head with no arms to turn the doorknob." Ponch laughed at the memory.

Bruce laughed. "I have to say, your mother knew what she was doing. I didn't know you were into modern art?"

"I have a _little bit_ of culture, Bruce. And Picasso is one of my mother's favorite artists."

"So what does, _la chica_ _con_…something…what does that mean?"

Ponch laughed. "_Narices gordas._ The girl with fat nostrils. Once I started calling her that, I wasn't scared of her anymore."

"Makes sense. So is this a _real_ Pablo Picasso painting?"

Ponch shook his head wryly. "Naw, man, this was done by his cousin, Pedro." Bruce looked on confused and Ponch chuckled. "It's a _forgery, _Bruce. Dora Maar kept all the original portraits Picasso painted of her."

"_Ohh,_ well doesn't the art world take note of that stuff? How could they fall for it?"

"Yeah, sure they keep records. But if you're dealing with Internationals, most likely the Asians, they probably won't have a clue." Ponch took a deep breath and sniffed the air. "Bruce, do you smell something funny?"

Bruce put his hands up. "You're the one who had two burritos for lunch. It wasn't me, Ponch."

Ponch's smile faded. "Not unless passing gas smells like…_rot_."

"Uh, maybe it's a dead mouse or cat or some animal that got trapped in here. It happens all the time." Bruce suggested. He didn't want to imagine the alternative.

Ponch tried to determine the odor. It didn't mesh right with the rest of the warehouse and it was strongest in this section. He circled the drums and noticed oil spilled on the ground. He kicked at one drum.

"These things are full. Now why would an art forger put two oil drums in the same area that he stores his shipment of paintings?"

"Maybe they were already here and it was too much trouble to move and dispose of them? It looks like they only used this corner to dump the empty crates. Well, except for that floating head. Must have been an oversight."

Ponch's expression soured. "No man, something's wrong. I don't run into this often, but we better open these right now."

Bruce gulped. "Ponch what are you saying? What's in there?"

"That's what we're gonna find out, rookie. Grab that crowbar by that last crate. These are removable lids but we might need it."

Bruce dug through a small hay pile and picked it up. A sticky, wet substance smeared on his gloves and he dropped the crowbar as if it were on fire.

"Ponch! There's a lot of blood on this!"

Ponch closed his eyes and shook his head. He loathed this aspect of the job. "That's gotta be a murder weapon. I have a feeling we'll find our victim in the can."

They quickly forced the lid off the drum and peered down.

Bruce tossed his arm across his nose and backed away fast. He tried not to retch. "Ponch…_ughh_…who is it?"

Ponch was tempted to do the same as Bruce but he had to examine the corpse. Blood seeped from a deep, jagged slash across his throat and an open wound on the back of his head. It was just big enough to have been made by the crowbar. He cringed and thought it was a nasty way to go.

"I don't know this big guy, but from the smell of him he's been here at least three days." He quickly put the lid on. "We have to check the other one."

Bruce let out a whoosh of relief when it came up only half-filled with oil.

"We have to call this in immediately and get an ambulance down here. We need a C.S.I team to come in. Did you notice his clothing?"

"_Err_…I was trying not to look." Bruce confessed.

"He was all in black. Stacey said that her kidnappers were dressed in black. This has to be one of them. They were probably making another late night delivery."

Ponch's thoughts ran a mile a minute. Christian Davidson was behind this murder. Either he had his other criminal associate do it, or he finally returned from Japan without telling Stacey and did it himself. They had to find Bobby and warn him.

"They must have killed him because he didn't finish the job." Bruce said.

"Right. His job was to make sure Stacey had a deadly accident and he failed. Thanks to Bobby's interference." Ponch patted Bruce's back. "You're looking very green around the gills, man. Go outside and get some fresh air and make the dispatches."

Bruce felt extremely queasy. "Thanks, Ponch! I'm gone."

-Oo-

Bobby helped Stacey across the pier toward her beachfront home. It was rustic, spacious and painted in vibrant colors. She inherited it from her mother. Most of Ilana's fortune went to Stacey and the remainder to museums where her mother showcased her work.

Stacey gripped the wooden railing and stopped halfway. "I think I can take it from here, Bobby. I just felt a little dizzy from the car ride. But thanks for the walk around; I needed to clear my head. You didn't have escort me home from the hospital."

"Yes, I did, trust me. And right now I'll let you walk on your own, but I'm still seeing you to the front door." Bobby said tersely. He thought of Ponch's phone call the night before and the gruesome warehouse discovery. He didn't want any surprises waiting for Stacey when she put the key in the door.

"Okay, you're the cop, I have to trust you, and I do. I felt like a rat in a cage shuffling back and forth to the hospital lounge with the IV attachment. I want to get back to dancing, biking and skating and all that."

Bobby released her arm. "I know what you mean. You will in time. I read your little bio in the newspaper, I guess you're not used to being inactive."

Stacey stared miserably across the horizon. The balmy winds blew her hair around and the bright mid-morning sunlight reflected off the ocean and glittered in her eyes. Bobby thought the effect was gorgeous. He didn't want her to think he was staring too hard, so he leaned against the railing to soak up the sunlight. Stacey faced him.

"Bobby, I finally read those news articles. I feel terrible. They hardly mentioned how brave you were coming back to save me and that other man. You could have died. You would think they'd focus on the heroism."

"Hey, it wasn't your fault. That's the press for ya. They're very quick to bring out the worst just to grab a headline. I saw one encouraging opinion article; the editor called the whole mess, _'Reckless Honor.'_ With the way these journalists write, you'd think they witnessed the accident. They really don't know anything."

Bobby turned and leaned on his arms, he watched sailboats drift in the distance. "Reckless honor…that's exactly what it is. I won't deny my part in this. It could have been anyone on that road and I still could have hit someone." He stood tall and held Stacey's shoulders. "You're an angel. You could have me thrown in jail. I don't know how to make it up to you."

Stacey smiled gently. "Nobody's going to court or jail…_I hope!_ I just want you to forgive yourself and _get back_ in uniform, there are other people out there that need your help on the Freeway."

"You _are_ an angel. If it were only so simple."

"I spoke to Officer Poncherello, and I'm going to testify in your behalf to your Sergeant and Captain. Like you said, nobody knows the other side of this story and that's about to change." She rose up and kissed his cheek. "And you _can_ make it up to me. Let's have lunch. I'm starving! There's a great bistro along the promenade not too far from here."

Bobby laughed and took her hand. "You bet. What's on the menu? Caviar? Steak tartare? Pâté? I know how you affluent people like to eat."

Stacey wrinkled her nose. "_Affluent?_ That's not me, Bobby. I don't draw social lines. And no way on the Pâté! I want some serious junk food, a _well-done_ cheeseburger and salty fries!"

"That's my kind of food."

They laughed, chatted and strolled on the pier until Stacey abruptly froze. "Oh no. What's he doing here?"

Bobby looked at the house and saw a silver Lincoln Continental parked near the garage. "Is that Davidson's car?"

"Yes. Damn, I completely forgot he had a key! I've been meaning to change those locks." She gripped his hand. "Bobby, please don't leave."

Bobby scowled at the car. "I wasn't planning to. We have a lunch date, remember? Come on, you're not gonna face him alone."

"Should I tell him the kidnapping story? Davidson's a lot of things, but he's not stupid. He'll know we're on to him."

"Let him think what he wants. Ponch called me last night and told me what they found in the warehouse. I didn't want to upset you."

Stacey clutched him. "No, _upset me_. Please. I want to know everything. This is my life we're dealing with. I was the one victimized, nearly murdered. Then Christian has me drugged up all week and cut off from everyone, now the police are hiding things. I'm tired of everyone trying to control me!"

Stacey's face reddened and she turned aside from him. "I didn't mean to yell at you. I appreciate everything you and Officer Poncherello are doing, I just want things to go back to the way they were. But it won't, will it?"

Bobby hugged her. "No. Not if we prove what you discovered about Christian and the forgery business. There's gonna be a lot of questions that need answers."

Stacey looked at her sandals. "Yeah, like why I didn't report my suspicions a lot sooner. And why there was a dead body in the back of the car I drove. They might even think_ I_ shot him."

Bobby nodded and thought of the media storm to follow. "They are gonna ask that. Be prepared."

"I was going to the authorities, Bobby. I just wanted to be absolutely sure with more proof. Christian is a very powerful man and I was scared. But I should have trusted my intuition and asked for help. I'm very independent, I learned to be. If you read between the lines in those bios, you'll know my mom barely raised me, the nannies did, and I was in and out of schools and taking all these 'enrichment' courses and activities so I wouldn't be in her hair while she created fine art."

Bobby sympathized with her. "I got that feeling. That's a shame. But I think she loved you."

"I know she did, I just wish life was more 'milk and cookies' normal. But it's over with and we can't choose our parents. Now I need to start a new chapter. So what else have you been keeping a secret, Bobby?"

Bobby hesitated, and then shrugged. "I should have told you sooner. Yesterday Ponch and my brother Bruce found the warehouse where they kept you and a forged Picasso."

"Really? That was the last set of orders I saw on the painting list. It was a bunch of rare Picasso works."

"But that's not all they found. There was a body shoved in an oil drum. He had his neck sliced open. He was a big guy in black. Do you remember anyone like that?"

Stacey recoiled. "Oh wow. That's horrible. I'm not sure, but the one that manhandled me was very solid. And I was blindfolded, but there was this other guy who teased me with his knife, you know, running the blade across my neck? Oh God, he's still out there. And now Christian is back! They want to finish what they started!"

Bobby held her steady and cupped her chin. "Listen to me. Nobody is gonna hurt you. We're gonna go inside and pack up some clothes and you're gonna stay somewhere they won't find you."

"Where? Your house?"

"I want you to, but I can't risk the exposure. The media is still coming around. I have lots of friends that would be willing to help. I can talk to Kathy Linahan, she's an Officer. And Ponch always gives up his bedroom for ladies in need." He joked.

Stacey sighed. "Bobby, maybe I should just leave the state, and go to New York or something. I know people out there that Christian doesn't."

Bobby shook his head. "You can't run forever. We need your testimony to catch these freaks now. If he's as powerful as you say, he _will_ find you."

"But Christian will know you're the CHP Officer involved when he sees you."

"I really don't care anymore. It will throw him for a loop. He's also gonna know his forgery and murdering days are over!"

Bobby stormed ahead and Stacey hurried after him. "Bobby wait!"

He turned and she rushed against him and held his face. She surprised him with a forceful kiss on the lips. Bobby clutched her waist and drew her closer. Their kisses lingered until Stacey pulled away reluctantly. Bobby stepped back dazed and he grinned at her.

"Now I know you really do forgive me. That was nice. Wow…it was hot."

She bit her lip and stroked his cheek. "It sure was, but it cooled you down."

"Oh…I see. The old 'kiss they guy' to calm him down trick, huh?" Bobby stepped away embarrassed.

Stacey clutched her cheek. "It _wasn't_ a trick! I wanted to do that for a while. What can I say? I get emotional easily."

"I've noticed. You're like hot and cold sometimes."

Stacey sighed. "I have a temper to work on. But at least I'm not lukewarm."

Bobby straightened up and ran his fingers through her hair and caressed her face. "I didn't think so. And we all got something to work on. We'll get back to that kiss, because I would have done it sooner or later too. Right now we have to clear up this mess before you get hurt again."

Bobby put an arm over her shoulder and Stacey wrapped her arm around his waist. She felt much bolder with him by her side.


	8. Samson's truth

**Reckless Honor**

**Chapter 8: Samson's truth**

"Hey Poncherello, I'm only tryin' to make a livin'. Why are ya bringin' me down to the station? You know I've been clean since that last bust with Baker four years ago. Whad I do, huh? What gives you the right to muscle me off the beach?"

"Samson, _relax._ Who says I'm bringing you in for a criminal charge?"

"I know you cops, you're all alike. Always tryin' to pin one on the little guy. You're interrupting my sales. That's the only way for me to make some bread, ya dig?"

"Yeah, I dig. But we need your art expertise, Samson. And everything you know about a man named Christian Davidson." Samson froze and then attempted to run away, but Ponch held his arms tight. "Not so fast. You'll go when I say so."

"Oh no man, I'm not talkin'. He's big time. No way, no how are you getting any dirt out of me. _Oww!_ Take it easy there, hombre! Or do I have to cry out Police brutality! _Police Brutality! Police…!"_

"_Aye dios mio! Knock it off!_ And thanks for the tidbit, now we know Davidson _is_ involved in forgery."

Ponch had to laugh at the skinny weather-beaten man. Samson Ludwig was a bearded, middle-aged artist who often wore a beret, Tye-dyed shirt, and paint splattered bell-bottoms. He was a throw back to the beat and hippie generation of the sixties and sold his custom prints along Venice Beach and the Santa Monica Pier. Samson was also one of the most talented forgers in the country. Ponch knew better to believe he kept clean since he and Jon nabbed him. They couldn't make charges stick and he went right back to the beach and promised to be good. He even painted an abstract portrait of him and Jon and had it sent to the station. Jon took it with him when he left.

Ponch led him straight to Getraer's office and plunked him a seat. The Sergeant and Bruce waited inside.

"Here he is, Sarge. I told you I had connections. He'll talk."

Samson stared at them bug-eyed. "I ain't gonna talk. I'm not a fink."

"Why? Is Davidson giving you a pay-off or something? Do we need to hold you here for further investigation?" Getraer wondered. "Or maybe you'll feel more comfortable in a jail cell?"

"You have nothing on me!" Samson whined. "I wanna lawyer! This is false arrest!"

Bruce banged the table and startled them. "Listen you! There are people's lives at stake, a young woman and my brother! If you don't start answering the officer's questions, you're in hot water! And I'll be the one to dunk you in there."

Ponch patted Bruce's back. "Don't worry, Bruce. We'll get this straightened out."

"You don't get it do you, Chips, if I do talk, I'll end up like Jordan…_jeeeeeshhhhh!_" Samson held his head. "Forget I said that."

"_Jordan._ Thanks. Now we got a name for our corpse in the oil drum." Ponch lifted the Picasso painting and held it up for Samson to observe. "Look familiar? It's funny how I thought of you after we found this."

Samson's eyes brightened. "This was one of my best! Where'd you find it?"

Bruce and Ponch shared a cynical glance. "We found it at the same warehouse where _Jordan_ bit the bullet." Bruce noted. "Why do you bother to forge art anyway?"

Samson shook his head disdainfully. "Commoners will never understand the mind of a true artist. Don't you see? I do this to pay homage to the greatest artists of all time! Go to any museum and what do you notice? A bunch of no talent hacks with their little easels, copying off the paintings. Why don't you arrest them? That's no different than what I'm doing."

"Oh yes it is. They're doing it for art practice; you're doing it to line your pockets." Bruce said. "Are you the one painting all of Davidson's forgeries? The ones he's selling on the international market for _millions_?"

Samson frowned and looked up at Ponch with a wounded expression. "Do I have to answer that?"

"If you don't, we'll throw you behind bars right now." Getraer warned him. "You're on thin ice, hippie."

Ponch tossed a file down and opened it. "Maybe this will get him to talk. Take a good hard look, Samson. That could have been you, man."

Samson gaped at the photos of Jordan's blood soaked body. "Oh jeesh! Okay, okay! I was _one_ of them. A great businessman like Davidson has connections to artists all over the states. We're all a starving bunch, at most we make a thousand or two and Davidson is very careful not to tell us what he's doing with the art. He just commissions us to design them. No questions. I did the Picasso sets nearly a year ago, because he's more my style. Scored a couple of grand. Davidson probably just shipped them now because it takes that long to dry completely. Not to mention I had to put them through an aging process." Samson giggled to himself. "I don't let my work leave my hands without giving myself some credit. There's a definite way to tell this one is mine."

"How?" Bruce asked.

Samson grabbed the painting. "May I?"

"Be our guest. This is fascinating." Ponch sighed.

"If you look really carefully in the right hand corner by her blouse, you'll notice a few little strokes. Kid, come here, you got bright, young eyes, check it out."

Bruce looked very closely at the area until he finally saw them. "You're right. It's faint, but it looks like…a column or something."

Samson slapped his knee and laughed. "That's right! That stands for Samson of old! The strong Biblical hero who knocked down the pillars on the Philistines. I've always wanted to be a big dude like him, so that's my logo. I make it more visible on all my original work."

"But why take the chance on a forgery?" Getraer asked.

Samson shrugged. "Force of habit. And frankly I'm getting tired of this forgery game. These dealers want everything for nothing and Davidson's the worst. He never pays up on time. So I decided to leave my little mark here and there. Most people would never know. Not Davidson, he couldn't tell you a Monet from a Degas. He's only in it for the money."

"How long did you work for him, Samson?" Ponch asked.

"On and off for fifteen years. He'd show up at my areas around the promenades and slip me a sheet with his requests and then I'd do my magic. You'd be surprised at the hard work that goes into copying these things."

"Like what?" Bruce asked upset. "You shouldn't brag because you're unoriginal."

"Hey blondie! I'm _very_ original! It takes loads of talent to make a perfect copy. And all mine are perfect with a capitol P! For one thing, you gotta mix the right paints to get the exact shades, then you gotta take into account the type of oil paints and canvases they used from their respective eras. You can't just throw any old oil paint on a brand new canvas. Davidson hooks me up if I need something specialized for the job. That's why I also chose Modern art; the paint is closer to the kinds we use now, if not exactly the same. Comprende?"

"Yeah, we got it. Now we want proof of all your transactions with Davidson, man." Ponch demanded.

Samson wagged his finger. "No can do, amigo. I work for cash only, no muss no fuss. I hand him the finished canvas and he hands me my money and we go our separate ways." He rose to leave. "Are we done here?"

Bruce shoved him back in the seat. "I'm gonna separate you four ways to Sunday if you don't give us more information!"

"Bruce! I don't want _another _Nelson suspended for disorderly conduct." Getraer warned him. "Cool off!"

"Nelson huh…_Ohh!_ You must be related to that Chip who caused the accident. Poor Stacey." Samson hung his head and toyed with his love beads. "That girl was a ray of sunshine, she knew I had an infamous rep for being a forger, but she never said a word. She loved my original work and promised me one day I can have my own gallery showing. I believed her, but that jerk Davidson always quashed our plans. As long as I was working for him no one was allowed to make the art connection. Ya see in art, every stroke is individual to the artist. I can copy Picasso perfectly, but there will always be a bit o' Samson in there. That's just the way it is."

"That could make Stacey an accessory to certain forgery crimes." Gertraer mused.

Samson wagged his hands. "Hey wait a minute. Don't go pinnin' any of this stuff on her now! She had no clue about the work I was doing for that man, okay?"

"All right, we know that. This is why it's so vital you help us with as much information about Davidson as you can. We have a strong reason to suspect he's the one who orchestrated her kidnapping and when that failed, ordered a hit and run on her." Getraer said. "You read all about it in the papers. The details of the accident are true at least."

Samson looked genuinely surprised, then his brow furrowed and his hooked nose curled up in a snarl. "That rotten, no good…look, nobody is gonna pin me with a murder wrap either! I would never kill nobody, I love and respect life, and especially a woman! Never Stacey, this is just like what happened to Ilana…"

"Ilana? Her mother? What's she got to do with this? She died years ago in a break-in." Bruce said.

"_Sure_ she did." Samson rolled his eyes and gazed firmly at them. "I'm warning you Chips, that man Davidson is a real killer and if Stacey and your brother Nelson meet up with him…there's no telling what he'll do."

Bruce ran to the doorway. "Ponch, we gotta get to Stacey's house. Bobby gave me the address! He was bringing her home from the hospital today, if Jordan's dead, then Davidson is definitely here!"

"Sarge, can we split?" Ponch asked worried.

"Go! And be careful! Call for back up if you need it, I'll have Grossie and Linahan troll the area. I'll see what else I can squeeze out of our artist."

Ponch and Bobby thanked him and sprinted out. Getraer patted Samson hard on the shoulders and sat back in his rolling chair. "Now, you just relax and tell me more about Ilana Davidson."

-Oo-

When Stacey opened the door she was greeted with a jovial hug from Davidson that threw her off guard. Ignoring Bobby, he led her into the living room and presented her with three gift boxes.

"Straight from Japan. I hope they fit."

Stacey glanced at Bobby and sank into the couch cushions. "Um, thank you, Christian. You shouldn't have." She quickly opened the first one and pulled out a long, black and pink silk kimono. She had to admit it was stunning. In the box beneath it was a pair of matching tatami sandals and the last one contained a beautiful Japanese Geisha doll.

Stacey ran her hand across the silk appreciatively. "I don't know what to say…they're gorgeous, really. I'll try them on later."

"Fine, fine. Stacey, I really should have came home sooner to make sure you were okay. I heard about the accident but I wasn't able to get a flight fast enough."

"I'm okay now, really." She looked at Bobby and her gaze urged him to stay close. Bobby sat next to her and leaned over to shake Davidson's hand.

"Hi, I'm…Robert, Robert Torvald. A good friend of Stacey's."

Davidson narrowed his eyes. "I thought I knew all of Stacey's friends. Forgive my rudeness for not introducing myself, that was just my way of trying to figure out if I knew you."

"Sure. Well Stacey and I met…at…uh…at…" He snapped his fingers.

"At the_ pool_ in that _gym_ I joined a few months ago, silly." Stacey chided.

"Ohh, right! _Duh._ How could I forget that day?" Bobby said.

"Rob and I kind of knocked heads when he decided to do a cannonball. He blamed himself for nearly drowning me and offered to buy me dinner once the stars cleared from our heads." Stacey forced a grin. "He and I are seeing each other now."

Bobby took her hand and stroked it. "Yeah, I'm real glad she said yes. Stacey's the best." Bobby's tension rose. This wasn't going as planned. He was dying to confront Davidson outright because the man obviously knew they were lying.

"Oh, well, won't that be one to tell the _grandkids_?" Davidson smirked. "It looks pretty serious, from what I saw on the pier."

Stacey rose. "Yeah…um, I didn't realize you still had a key. I am going to change my locks. This is my home now. Not mom's."

Davidson and Bobby stood at the same time. "Of course, dear. I figured I'd come in and surprise you. Tell me something, who else have you told about this accident?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, when you woke up, did you talk to anyone about it?" Davidson circled Stacey like a lion going in for the kill. "I know it must have seemed strange that I kept you sedated for so long, but I needed to make sure you didn't say anything to ruin your case."

"What case?"

"The case against the CHP Officer who nearly killed you. We _are_ taking this to court, I already have my lawyer on standby to prepare the papers."

Stacey backed away and went to the kitchen. "Can I get anyone a cold drink? I have lemonade, iced tea…oh, well it's still good, even though I haven't been here for a few days."

"Didn't you hear what I said?"

Stacey poured herself a glass and handed one to Bobby. "Yes, Christian, but there's no need for that. I'm not taking this to court." Her words faltered as she saw Davidson's face darken. "I…um…it wasn't his fault. Someone else deliberately ran me off the road. They shot at my tire and blew it off. That's why I went over the embankment. There's a lot more to this story than you know, Christian."

"You have to be kidding!" Davidson feigned shock. "Why on earth would anyone do that?"

Stacey's glass trembled and she slammed it down. She didn't want to play any more games. Bobby went around the island table and stood next to her.

"Mr. Davidson, this wasn't just a hit and run. Stacey was kidnapped and she escaped, but the kidnappers chased her. They caused the accident. And I think she was kidnapped because she found out some very incriminating things about _you_."

Stacey gripped his arm. "Bobby don't…"

Davidson flustered. "How dare you? Who the hell do you think you are anyway?"

Bobby stood at full authority. "_I'm_ the CHP officer who was on the road that night. My name is not Robert Torvald. Not really. I go by Bobby Nelson. I'm sure you heard the name by now."

Davidson laughed snidely. "I should have known. You nearly kill Stacey and then you ingratiate yourself into her life with sweet talk and romance so she won't incriminate _you_! That's deplorable. You know that's what he's doing, don't you, Stacey? He doesn't really care about you."

Stacey looked him straight in the eye. "Bobby hardly knows me, but he cares more for me than you ever did. It's over, Christian. I told the police everything that happened, and my suspicions about the forgeries. They will investigate. They already are!"

Davidson strode to the back of the couch and picked up a briefcase. "I don't think you'll be showing anyone the evidence. I am not a dummy, Stacey. I know you made copies of all the records you found." He quickly dug into the briefcase and pulled up a gun.

Bobby edged himself in front of Stacey. "Listen to me, Davidson, you don't want to do this. You're only making it harder on yourself. Just take the briefcase and leave."

"Are you kidding me? So the moment I'm gone you can call your Chip friends and have them chase _me_ off a cliff? I highly doubt that. Stacey and I are going to take a little drive. We have some unfinished business." Davidson strolled toward them and Bobby backed up against the counter and blocked Stacey.

"I'm _not_ letting you take her!"

"Then I guess I'll just have to pull this trigger." He cocked the hammer on the gun and Stacey boldly came forward. "No! No, Christian! You don't want to kill a cop. I'll go with you." She said teary. "_I'll go…_"

Bobby tried to pull her away. "No, you're not doing this, Stacey. Look, take me, Davidson, okay?"

"Absolutely not! All your friends will be on my tail."

Bobby wanted to choke him. "You said it yourself, they'll be coming after you no matter what happens. I swear it."

Davidson yanked Stacey away from Bobby and then shoved the gun against her ribcage.

"Bobby, please!"

"If you hurt Stacey, I'm coming after you, cop or not!" Bobby knew his threats were weak, Davidson was a loose cannon that just fired. Bobby was ready to lunge but Davidson aimed the gun again.

"Don't come any closer, Chippie. We're leaving right now!"

Davidson shoved Stacey toward the door. She turned just in time to see Eddie creep up behind Bobby.

"Bobby, look out!"

Eddie was about to whack him on the head with a vase. Bobby swung around and punched him in the gut. Eddie cursed and doubled over and a fight quickly ensued while Davidson dragged Stacey outside and sped fast away.


End file.
